


Straight With Me

by GioseleLouise



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Heartbreak, M/M, Misunderstanding, One-Sided Harry/Kim, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GioseleLouise/pseuds/GioseleLouise
Summary: “You seemeddetermined, detective,” Kim says, amused. “And for all your skills at observation, you have a tendency to hear what you want to hear.”--Everyone’s on a date, but no one seems to know it.Loose Sequel to Smokes Astras.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois & Jean Vicquemare, Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi, Kim Kitsuragi/Jean Vicquemare
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	Straight With Me

**Author's Note:**

> You can read this as a loose sequel to Smokes Astras. I say “loose” sequel because I know not a lot of people are a fan of this pairing. But I AM. 
> 
> HOPE YOU READ THE TAGS.
> 
> As always, thx to @Rathma for being a desert buddy

After four months and a half months of sobriety, Harry’s learned to appreciate the little things. His therapist calls them “Quick Wins”: small pockets of contentment and achievement. Anything more is a “Victory”.

Everything with Kim feels like a Victory.

Victory is learning Kim’s favorite non-alcoholic drink. It’s finally savoring the taste of cherry seltzer water. It’s knowing how Kim relaxes at a bar and noticing how dreamy Kim looks in dim lighting. It’s watching Kim’s hands circle around a stein; gloveless fingers tapping a mindless melody against the glass. It’s Kim smiling at a question Harry’s wanted to ask for months. 

It’s a thousand butterflies fluttering in Harry’s belly and feeling his yearning culminate in a beautiful three letter word.

Kim is barely out of earshot when Harry latches onto Jean’s arm. “Did you see that?”

“Yeah,” Jean whispers. He waits until Kim is tucked into the bar before raising his voice, “Yeah, that was _great_.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“What?” Harry whirls around, anticipating a joke. “What are you talking about? Kim said yes! We’re getting dinner.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know it’s a date,” Jean says. If he’s annoyed Harry’s nails are digging into his bicep, he doesn’t show it. “I’m sorry. But I’m right. Kim thinks you’re going out as friends.”

“No, Vic. You didn’t see his face when I asked.”

“Harry I’m sitting _next to you_ and I was trying pretty hard _not_ to, but-”

“Man, stop being such a downer!” Harry lets go. He can’t deal with the look Jean is giving him. Determined. Pitying. It’s making Harry uncomfortable. “I’m the fucking Human Can-Opener - reading people is my full-time job. Kim _totally_ knows it’s a date!”

Jean sighs. “Listen. Kim and I were practically partners for the past four months. I know him. He would’ve been floored if-”

“Vic, _I_ know Kim. And I know him better than you - I was friends with him first. You two just do work stuff.”

“Don’t you think-”

“I know what I’m talking about.”

And maybe it’s Harry's persistence, or he’s just done arguing, but Jean relents. 

“S _ure,_ ” Jean says. “Just make sure you tell him it’s a date. As in, say the word to him: _Date._ D-A-T-E. Be sure to use it in a sentence. Are you even listening-”

“Yep,” says Harry, grinning at Kim’s approaching figure. Kim walks slow with three cups of water pressed between his hands. Harry should really help him. Cause they’re going on a date. And that’s the type of romantic stuff people that go on dates do.

 _They’re dating._

“You think too loud,” Jean teases. “Be careful during your ‘ _date’_.”

He slaps at Jean’s air-quotes as he gets up. Harry loves the guy, but Jean doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

\---------------

Harry pokes at a plate of Mussels en Escabeche with his fork. He feels stiff trying to catch one at arm’s length; elbows out and off the table, his back pin-straight. One gets caught on the small tines of his fork and Harry lifts it to his plate. Gingerly. The last thing he needs is for sauce to stain his new dress shirt.

“You look nice.” Kim’s tone waters down the compliment. It’s distant. Like Kim just noticed Harry sitting in front of him, dressed like he finally gave a shit.

“Thanks. So do you, Kim!”

Kim takes a long drink from his wine glass; Adam’s apple bobbing twice before coming up for air. “Thanks.”

If tonight has taught Harry anything, it’s that he has no idea what to do on a date. Rusty is an understatement. Conversation has been bouncing like a deflated ball and Kim does not want to play; Harry’s date is more interested in downing wine and appreciating the Flamenco guitar playing from the speakers (“Straight from Mesque - these Interisolan radios are quite amazing, sirs”) than picking up Harry’s pre-prepared topics.

And Harry _really_ tried to be a good date. He borrowed Jean’s cologne, and learned how to pronounce Mesque dishes. He complimented the craftsmanship of Kim’s navy sports jacket (because Kim tailored his own clothes) and pointed out Kim’s new haircut (because Kim cut it himself!) and talked about Kim’s cologne and his handy watch and the millions of things that made Kim Kitsuragi look so effortlessly _cool_.

When all that failed to break the ice, Harry ran to the bathroom to make sure his breath didn’t smell. Or that there wasn’t anything stuck in his teeth. He glared and scrutinized his crisp reflection. Replayed their pitiful conversations in his head. Did he say something wrong?

Maybe it was the restaurant. Kim liked Mesque food, but perhaps he hated Mesque art? Bright lights and colorful tilework were the cornerstones of Mesque style and maybe it reminded Kim of some unfortunate incident in his old Precinct. It definitely wasn’t the crowd - the establishment had the popularity to get away with close tables and tiny booths. Customers crammed together in a way that made it hard to tell who was on a date and who was willing to sit closer to enjoy the food. Made it perfect for the _Underground_.

“Do you want to eat somewhere else, Kim?”

Kim finishes his wine - his second glass for the night - and shakes his head. 

“The restaurant was a good pick, Harry.” Kim glances at the next booth; at two women subtly wrapping the tips of their fingers together. “It’s pretty. How did you find this place?”

“Vic recommended it. He knew you liked Mesque food.”

“I see.”

Kim flags a waitress for a third glass of wine. Something about his tone - urgent and impatient - resonates with Harry.

“Something on your mind?” Harry asks slowly. His tone straddles authoritative and approachable; it’s the same one he uses to question civilians.

Conflict flashes through Kim’s features. “Well…”

“Sir?”

The same waitress manifests by Kim’s shoulders with a bottle of wine perched in her hands like a prize. Harry waits and listens to the flow of red liquid and the pointed chords of Flamenco Guitar. 

When she leaves Harry’s date doesn’t drop his glass from shoulder level; his swirls it, aerates it. Stares. 

“You can talk to me, Kim.”

The corners of Kim’s mouth twitch. “I can, right?”

“Yes. You can trust me.”

Their eyes meet and Harry watches Kim’s remaining reservations vanish. Kim takes one last sip and he surrenders; leans towards Harry and asks, “What’s the 41st’s policy on interoffice dating?”

“Discretionary.” There’s no shortage of secret trysts and special friendships within the precinct. Nothing relieves stress like _sex_ , especially when your _friend_ understands the job: the hours, the energy, the tolls the RCM asks from you.

“We’re supposed to notify the Captain about any relationships, but,” Harry shrugs, “Most people don’t. As long as you can do your job, no one says anything.” The unspoken hangs in the air. _Because most relationships in the Precinct don’t last._

“So it’s like the 57th.” Kim smiles softly. “These things are allowed.”

“Yes - was this what was bothering you all night? That this wasn’t-” Harry laughs, relieved. “Oh my fucking God, Kim. You nerd!”

“Not quite…” Kim says slowly. The wine is really starting to show; his eyes are glazed and the skin around his collar is turning flush. Kim takes another generous sip from his glass.

“There’s someone I’m...interested in. Someone within the Precinct. Do you-” Kim narrows his eyes, “ _Harry_ , do you understand?”

As far as confessions went, this was pretty roundabout. Discretion, Harry thinks, must run pretty deep in the Underground. And Kim’s exceptionally cautious. Harry smiles encouragingly.

“Yes, Kim. I-uh…” accept? I like you too? Talking emotions with Kim is like baiting a battered dog; no flashy moves, no big gestures. Kim’s reticence is part of his charm, but it’s forced Harry to resort to creative messaging sometimes. “...I know who you’re talking about.”

Kim sighs. A relieved noise, like releasing a breath held too long. Kim takes another sip. His next words are slow and deliberate. “I’m getting dinner with this _someone_ ,” Kim shoots Harry a pointed look, “but I’m not sure if he knows it’s...a date.”

“Oh, I think _he knows_.”

“I’m glad.” For the first time tonight, Kim glows; his obsidian eyes more lustrous than anything Harry’s known. It makes Harry’s breath catch a little. “He’s been so distant the past few weeks. I was wondering if I came on too strong.”

The words take a minute to register. That doesn’t...

“Really? Because _he’s_ been trying to get closer to you.”

Kim quirks an eyebrow. “He’s been spending all his time with _you_ lately.”

“What are yo-”

 _He’s been spending all his time with_ **_you_ ** _lately._

Realization hits like a wrecking ball. Like a shotgun firing point-blank at Harry’s chest. Harry’s mouth forgets how to work and he gapes at air, struggling to speak. To breathe. When he succeeds, Harry can barely hear himself. “…It’s Jean?”

“What?”

God, Kim and Jean? _Kim and Jean?_ Harry laughs; a harsh high-pitched sound that startles his...dinner partner.

“But-because you two are just friends! You and him just-what? What?! T-there’s, like, other people out there. Better people.” _People that are sitting across from you. People that you are currently_ **_on_ ** _a motherfucking date with._

Kim’s voice is small. “I see.”

“Do you?” Harry wants to ask. Doesn’t. Can’t.

He’s distantly aware of Kim scooping up his wine glass. Drawing into himself like a turtle to its shell. The space between them grows as seconds pass and Harry goes with it; flotsam in an ocean of confusion and heartbreak. 

“Harry.”

It takes him some time to find his voice, “…What, Kim?”

“I get it. Jean isn’t interested.” The bitterness in Kim’s tone surprises them both. Kim takes a long drink from his glass. Clenches his jaw. “Your delivery is excellent, as always. I’m glad you’re having fun. Excuse me for being a little disappointed.”

Harry melts into the unreasonably plush cushions of his chair. _Makes two of us._

He wants to go home. The blasting guitar is inappropriately upbeat. And loud. Colorful Mesque tiles mock Harry with their vibrancy. He’s sick of looking around and seeing happy couples. Or friends acting like happy couples.

It’s nauseating.

And they’re here because of a stupid recommendation. Because _someone_ knew Kim liked Mesque food. 

And knew what cologne Kim liked. 

And that Kim cut his own hair.

Harry is loath to admit it, but it made sense in hindsight. He’s known those two have gotten close. He can’t ignore their private jokes. Their senses of humor. Those times Kim’s gaze would linger a bit longer than usual. How Kim always had an excuse to partner up with _him_ on open cases.

And _he_ was Harry's friend. Harry’s closest friend.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow.

“ _No_ . I’m sorry. That’s not- I’m not sure if he…” Harry purses his lips; reluctant. But the way Kim suddenly hangs onto his words, head tilted and eyes wide, makes Harry’s heart ache more than it already does. Harry sighs. “He really likes you. But I don’t know if he thinks about you _that_ way. We’ve never talked about it.”

“Oh.” Kim crosses and uncrosses his arms. He straightens his cutlery, fidgeting like a teenager at a school dance. “Do you know if he’s…”

“Underground?” Harry whispers. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “I mean, I don’t remember him saying it, but let's just say…yes. I remember there were guys - I mean, not tons of guys. He’s a serious dude. And there was definitely one guy he was super serious about, but it wasn’t like _serious_ , serious. It was just- fuck, wait...Bijou’s a boy’s name, right?”

Kim grimaces, “Harry…” 

“You know, just forget it. I _know_ him. He’s with the Underground and…” Harry swallows his bitterness; lets his mouth run on auto-pilot. “…You guys are fine. Jean doesn’t get involved with cops.”

Kim’s eyebrows twitch as Harry’s tongue back flips, “Shit! No - I mean Vic doesn’t _involve_ cops. Like, he won’t - he doesn’t involve cops _in conversations_ about his romantic life. He’s great at keeping that stuff separate, so no one at the Precinct will find out if it all goes wrong!”

“I should cancel dinner.”

Harry spots the changes most wouldn’t: the slight downturn of Kim’s lips, the droop in his eyelids. Bright lights exaggerate Kim’s worry lines and his tailored sports jacket suddenly looks a touch too loose. Kim’s eyes focus on the stained rim of his wine glass.

It is, Harry realizes, the Kim version of a sulk. 

“Don’t cancel.” Harry resists the urge to wrap his hand around Kim’s. _Smile, Kim. Please smile._ “You should have dinner with him. And you should…you _need_ to tell him it’s a date.”

“I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.”

“You won’t. Vic would be stupid not to give you a chance.” Harry’s heart cracks as he speaks, but he manages a soft smile, “It’s easy to love you.”

Kim’s eyes dart away. Expression equal parts exasperated and touched; a cocktail of bewilderment he reserves for Harry’s emotional outbursts. The flush on his neck creeps towards his ears. 

It’s so unbearably, unfairly, adorably _Kim_.

“Yeah. He’ll love you,” Harry says quietly. “Probably already does.”

“Do you want the last one?” Kim’s gestures towards the single mussel sitting in the bowl between them. His tone is serious, as if appetizer portioning has been the hot topic of the evening. _Too much emotional talk for one night_ , Harry thinks. He shakes his head; laughs when he realizes that Kim is pointedly not looking at him. 

“All yours.”

“Thanks. You’re a good friend, Harry.”

He’ll have an interesting phone call later tonight. Jean will tease Harry about his not-date. Harry will tell Jean he was right. Jean will pick up on Harry’s resignation. On and on until Harry admits he’s no longer pursuing Kim and Jean’s composure cracks into concerned panic. Harry wishes he could be there to see Jean’s face when Kim drops the news and the pieces connect.

It’ll hurt but they’ll be good about it. _Jean_ will be good about it until Harry can super-glue the pieces of his heart back together.

“Funny how perfectly the timing worked out.” Kim scoops the mussel in a smooth motion and twirls his fork. It’s nice to see Kim smiling again. At the very least, one person is leaving dinner feeling better. “My dinner would’ve been painfully awkward if it weren’t for tonight.”

Harry snorts. “Yeah. It’s hilarious.”

Kim’s wineglass draws Harry’s eye - the red liquid a siren call that would have Kim and Jean at his throat before the night is over. It’s not worth it, Harry tells himself. Even if it dulled the pain in his heart, it’s not worth it.

But God, could he use a drink.

“Sir?” A waiter pulls up next to Harry - tray in hand - and follows Harry’s line of vision. “Would you like some wine with your meal?”

“No. I’m alrigh- _what is that_?”

“Your order, sir. Lamprea a la bordalesa.”

“Seriously?” Harry bleats. He studies the long cylinders swimming in thick sauce. “It looks...uh. You can put it here, thanks.”

Across the table, Kim bites his lip. They look at Kim’s Paella de Pato then the brown mess in Harry’s bowl. Kim snorts.

“You had no idea?” Kim grins as he pushes his dish closer to Harry. “Here. We can share.”

“Why didn’t you tell me it looked like this?” Harry asks, heaving rice next to mussel shells on his teeny appetizer plate.

“You seemed _determined_ , detective,” Kim says, amused. “And for all your skills at observation, you have a tendency to hear what you want to hear.” 

God he sounds exactly like...Harry buries the thought, but it's too late. Whatever distraction his meal has brought is gone; rejection sits like a heavy weight at the back of his throat. He swallows.

“I observe _everything_ , Kim.” Harry says, scratching at the skin above his heart. It’s a miracle he sounds so calm. “I’m like a bat- what? Isn’t that an expression?”

“It’s not. Bats can’t...” Kim’s mouth twitches, “Nevermind. These are bold claims, lieutenant. Do you remember your incident from our last case?”

“I don’t,” Harry lies. “Remind me.”

And Kim does, teasing Harry the entire time. In the background, Flamenco Guitar plays and the evening drags on. The paella is good, but sharing a dish with Kim is better. And Harry’s heartache is briefly held at bay with the sound of Kim’s voice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Bijou - a girl's name of French origin meaning "jewel."
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> Come say hi @ giosele.tumblr.com :)


End file.
